


Drugs

by ImagineThat_NeatHuh



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Cliffhangers, Fluff, Other, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineThat_NeatHuh/pseuds/ImagineThat_NeatHuh
Summary: Technical Boy visits some friends.
Relationships: Technical Boy (American Gods) & OCs
Kudos: 5





	Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW: Drugs (mostly illegal), unwanted advances, depictions of drug use and the effects of said drugs, shit happens at the end that idk how to explain (like desiccation or something? idk)

The batter was finished and the oven, nice and warm in preparation. The cookie sheet filled, and one of the many drug gods is ready to pop the delicious red velvets in the oven. A burst of heat flooded over Weed's face as they slipped in the first batch. They couldn't wait for the cookies to be done; red velvets were their favourite. Setting the timer, they heard a knock at the mansion's door. Not expecting visitors, the knock, however faint, caught their attention.

For a second, Weed stopped and thought. It was distant, the main kitchen being pretty far away from the front door. On any other day, particularly the party two nights before, they wouldn’t have heard it at all. Not even if Weed were right next to the door. Yesterday, however, they would have been able to notice it if they were nearby. But not as far away as the kitchen. The noise from the others would have covered it up.

Breaking out of their stupor at the continued knocking, Weed passed Heroin passed out on the stairwell railing. Probably from his worshippers. Not unusual for him. Meth sat next to Coke, scratching at his gaunt skin and shivering under the blanket. Coke was doing line after line of, well, cocaine.

Weed couldn't help but feel bad for him and for most of the illegal drug gods. It wasn't their fault they were believed in and worshipped. Though, it wasn’t like they cared. As long as they got their fix of worshippers, the illegal ones never cared.

Weed was one of the oldest here, but not in the way some might think. It wasn't that they were the oldest drug used in the US. Or the fact that weed, or marijuana, had been used for years before. No, it was the fact that so many drugs were reinvented time and time again. Yes, there were new ways to use the plant, but it wasn't like with crack and coke. It certainly wasn’t like with LSD.

The new strains and ways of using weed, of worshipping Weed, never killed anyone. There was a high you could reach, and that was it. No overdosing, no death. Just that point. That high. You couldn't get any higher after that. If you wanted to get higher, you’d worship LSD or Mushroom or one of the other drug gods. There were plenty. It was simpler and easier than blinking.

After stumbling over Phone's legs as she typed and scrolled, unable to look away, Weed straightened themself. They shook their head at the god before getting to the door. Others lay about the giant mansion: Social Media and News fighting over something again, Ib talking with Cut, Fent rambling at Burn as Burn flicked her lighter open and closed over and over again.

Sometimes, there were so many of them, Weed could barely keep track. Especially now. There were so many of them now. Every year, it seemed like humans became more and more addicted to practically anything they could. Anything they could use to escape.

It wasn’t that they didn’t try; they did. It was more that humans just wanted to get away from their world. That ended up with them falling into addiction, whether something simple like social media or detrimental like cocaine.

Weed giggled as they opened the door, mostly lucid but not completely.

They were the god of weed, marijuana, MJ, Mary-Jane, the good kush. Nothing could keep them in a depressive state. It wasn’t in their nature. Simply speaking, they weren’t built for it. They weren’t worshipped for it.

Leaning against it with their full weight, they grinned dopily at Technical Boy.

"Hiiii," they said.

Technical Boy gave a pained but affectionate smile.

"Hi, Weed."

They bent forward, close to falling, and picked at his hair.

"Did you cut your hair?" They asked, eyes peering at the same hair he’d had for over a month.

Taking their wrist and pulling it away, he sighed.

"No, you're just high," he said, gently patting the weirdo’s cheek with his free hand.

Weed giggled. The goofy and rather oblivious god was completely unaffected by their friend’s tone and actions.

"You're so funny. I'm Weed! Of course, I'm high. High as a kite! Maybe even higher!"

They gave him a giant toothy grin before turning to the others inside.

"Guess what, everyone?" Others nearby looked over from their various coves, curious. "Technical Boy's back!"

A few pumped their arms lazily in the air while some of the others weakly cheered.

The tech god couldn't help but laugh and shake his head.

"I feel so popular," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

•

They walked back to the living room, this time with Technical Boy in tow. Literally. Weed grabbed him and dragged him along. They didn’t even give him time to step inside before they started pulling him along.

Now, Technical Boy could have easily stopped them, but he didn't want to ruin their mood. Though, he wasn’t sure he could if he did want to. Weed didn’t give up easily.

Meth had crawled under the stairs, seemingly just as fine as he could be, with Toba and Nic.

Coke relaxed against one of the sofas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and blazer tossed to the side of the coffee table. His head was lolled all the way back, lips parted widely. A hundred dollar bill was rolled up, lazily being held in Coke's hand. His arms hung splayed out and rested on his legs.

Weed’s eyes squinted as they looked him up and down. They shook their head before turning to Technical Boy.

Coke rarely slept and never on the sofa.

"I have cookies in the oven," Weed told Technical Boy with a proud grin. "Wake me up when the timer goes off."

Then they belly-flopped over the sofa’s arm without another word. They were like flour being dumped into a bowl by a grandmum, rather unprofessional but skilled. The flop of Weed the Fish earned a very audible creak from the old, raggedy sofa.

The sound scared Coke awake with a jolt. He gave Technical Boy a sleepy smile. The unusually tired god rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to stay awake.

"Hey, man," he mumbled drowsily, leaning over the table where a few coke lines appeared. "You want some?"

As he sat down, the tech god shook his head.

"Not today. I've got shit to do tomorrow, and I don't wanna get too fucked up."

Coke nodded, understanding where he was coming from, before snorting a line.

"Vape around?" Technical Boy asked, scanning for her.

Or was it him? It depended on the day, Technical Boy supposed.

Wiping his nose, Coke shook his head, not bothering to look up.

"Passed out hours ago. Don't know why but everyone's been doing it today. Hell, I’ve been trying to stay awake all day, but, no matter how much I put in my system, I keep dozing off. I think Weed’s the only one who hasn’t been."

Technical Boy laughed and sniffed.

"Maybe D's gonna make an appearance."

"Ha! That'll be the day." Coke snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “You got jokes today, man. Lots of fucking jokes.”

•

The front door of the giant mansion slammed shut, and within minutes, Sex and her most recent boy-toy walked through the once grandiose arch between the living room and one of the large halls.

The feeling of the place shifted as she walked into the massive living room.

Technical Boy shifted in his seat, staring at her in pain as she entered.

Sex grinned coyly at the sight of him, twirling her straightened and black-dyed hair with her finger. Her tongue ran along the tips of her top teeth and she bit her lip.

"Hi, Techie," she sang, her pet wrapping his arms around her waist. "You know, we could always go for a threesome."

The tech god's eyes widened as he tried to disappear into the well-used sofa. Her smell, not the perfume, but her natural smell, was intoxicating. It reminded him of Weed and Coke. His vision blurred as she spoke, her tone oh, so inviting. He felt something near his nethers that made him, internally, even more uncomfortable; he felt the heat he always hated getting. When it was the trio of them, he didn’t care, it was the effect Weed and Coke had sometimes. But, when it was Sex, he was just uncomfortable. But, her allure was too strong, even for him. It was like she could control the minds and bodies of those she wanted. In a heart-beat, he still would have let her use him to reach that high. It was too intoxicating to say no.

If Coke hadn’t said something, Technical Boy would have found himself under her spell and going upstairs with her. Thankfully, Coke had his back.

"Leave the poor fucker alone; he ain't into you. Why don't you fuck your pet there instead?" Coke asked, annoyed with the fellow drug god.

Sex huffed, pouting.

"Come on, Techie, we could have lots of fun. Right, baby?" She asked the obviously jealous boy behind her.

"Yeah, course."

"Weed," Coke called, throwing pieces of paper at them.

Weed groaned but otherwise gave no indication of being awake.

"Weed!"

"Leave him alone." It was muffled but clear enough to upset Sex.

She turned her nose in the air, facing her partner of the night.

"Come on, baby, let's go have our own fun."

Her hand gently caressed his cheek as he leant into it.

There was something about her that was irresistible, alluring to humans. If she tried hard enough or was horny herself enough, Sex could seduce other gods. Like with Technical Boy. Yes, even other drug gods. You would think they’d have some sort of immunity. But, no, they’re actually just as, if not more, susceptible.

She, like all her kind, secreted her drug, enflaming desire. No one could resist it.

Sex’s boy-toy leant in, kissing her hard. He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He didn’t. When a goddess like her tells you something, you listen.

"Ew, gross, guys," Coke said, trying to block them with his hands. "Take that upstairs. I don't wanna see that shit."

Sex broke away and stuck out her tongue like she was going to lick something. Her worshipper followed after her as Sex sashayed upstairs to her room, her ass almost hypnotizing him. Well… her room was more like a sex chamber or orgy room, but no one really talked about that.

On her way up, she angrily pushed Heroin off the railing. Sex hated not getting her way. Besides, she never really liked him. Or any of the other opioid-based gods. They were the only ones she could never fully seduce.

Heroin landed with a thud. For a moment, the other gods thought he was dead or something of the like. But then he rolled onto his stomach, letting the others relax.

Sure, gods couldn’t really die, especially not one like Heroin. That fact didn’t stop Coke from worrying. For some reason...

•

A few minutes passed, Coke and Technical Boy talking and the timer ticking quietly in the background.

In a different room, the sound of glass breaking rang out. This completely _shattered_ the peaceful-ish atmosphere. In this household, there was always someone doing something stupid, usually Al.

"Fuckin' SM, again. She has got to learn to control herself," Coke said, shaking his head and glaring toward the sound.

Technical Boy nodded in agreement.

She was the kinda god you could piss off with just a look.

"What do you think of New Media?" He asked. "Have you met her yet?"

Coke shook his head.

"Thankfully not. Weed has, though. They don't like her, called her, and I quote, 'more artificial and fake than fucking plastic'."

Coke ran a hand through his hair, viciously scratching the back of his neck. He twitched.

Technical Boy laughed, putting his arms over the top of the sofa.

"Fuck, that is scarily accurate."

•

The timer in the kitchen rang, signalling the cookies were done.

The two gods looked at each other before looking at Weed, still passed out on the sofa.

Coke poked them with his foot.

"Weed," he said, continuing to poke them. "Weed, dude, your cookies."

"Don't worry about it. I've got them."

Technical Boy stood, leaving his jacket on the sofa. It wasn't a long walk to the kitchen, but with the annoying, repetitive ringing of the timer, Technical Boy felt like he couldn't walk fast enough.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, will ya?’ He thought.

•

Back on the sofa, Weed's head shot up in a mixture of panic and excitement.

"The cookies!"

Coke laughed as Weed scrambled up and to the kitchen where Technical Boy, with some oven mittens, was pulling out the cookie sheet.

"Hey, Weed."

Weed panted heavily from the mad dash and stared at him.

"Oh my leaves," they mumbled to themself at the sight of the muscled god acting like a normal person.

"What?"

They shook themself out of it and walked over, poking at the middles of the cookies.

"Eh, good enough."

"Your standards for baked goods are ridiculously high. I hope you know that."

The shorter god looked up at him with a closed-mouth grin.

Technical Boy sighed and hung his head at the accidental joke and Weed’s obsession with them.

"Do not say a word, Weed. Not one."

"Fergalicious."

"I said not to say a word."

They crossed their arms with a huff.

"Okay, so, when we played Scrabble last week, it's not a word, but now it is? It's one or the other. You can't choose both."

He rested his hands on the edge of the oven, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Also, playing Scrabble with you is really fucking frustrating. Why do you know all the word?" Weed asked, their hands shaking slightly in front of them, their fingers pressed together.

Unable to stop himself, Technical Boy laughed loudly.

Weed did love that sound.

"The Hell is wrong with you?" He asked, glancing at them with a knowing smile.

They shrugged.

"You want the long or the short of it?"

His grin grew and he looked away.

Phone walked in, still texting, and went to the fridge. Her glazed-over eyes stayed glued to the screen as she opened the fridge. The young drug god let it hang there for a few minutes, using both her hands to text, before closing it and leaving as quickly as she came.

"Do you want me to turn the oven off?" Technical Boy asked, removing the mittens.

They shook their head.

"I have more I need to put in."

He leant against the oven, letting it warm his back. They joined him, staring at the photos and drawing on the walls.

Some were happy, some were murder scenes. But none of it was unfamiliar to either of them.

A few were old, like old-old. Like back in the 1800s old.

One showed Telegram with his arm over Weed's shoulder. Another with Telephone at the end of his reign and a few other drug gods, namely Toba, Nic, and Weed, playing poker. Television wore a smug grin in his photo with the growing amount of drug gods, Weed by his side. A more colourful photo showed Weed with their arms around Game's neck, the two of them smiling at the camera, one of his hands on their arm. The latest of the tech gods, Technical Boy himself, sat on the old sofa with Coke and Weed. Weed had passed out on top of them, and they were both too afraid to move them or wake them up. Plus, they looked adorable. 

The camera angle was a little odd. Technical Boy didn’t remember the wall going back that far. But, it was probably just the lighting messing with his head.

He couldn't remember who was behind the camera, but he did remember how fucked up he'd gotten. How hard he'd partied. That was mostly because he blacked out that night. Whether or not he blacked out was a good gauge of how fucked up he’d gotten. The headache that followed was not fun. Probably why the mansion was equipped to completely block out the Sun when need be. They were drug gods; they were known for their ragers.

"Do you remember who took that one?" He asked, pointing at the photo.

It was older, but none of them had changed much.

Weed stared at it for a moment before shaking their head.

"Nope," they said. "Maybe it was D."

It was a joke, obviously. D hadn't been around in ages.

"Do you miss it?" He asked. "Being whole?"

It was a complete change in the conversation’s direction. Not unusual for Technical Boy. His mind changed more often than Sex’s partners.

Weed was quiet, rubbing their arms.

"Sometimes. Others, I'm glad we're not together. Every time one of them goes too far, I'm glad I'm not whole. That we're not whole."

They leant their head on his shoulder as the two of them stared at the photos.

"Don't you feel, I don't know, empty?"

They nodded.

"Yeah, but not always. If we were whole, we wouldn't have what we have. The friendships we have. Coke, Toba, Meth, Phone, even Sex, none of us would be stuck together. We wouldn't be a family, ya know?"

Although he didn't consciously know, he nodded anyway. Technical Boy didn't feel like he belonged anywhere except for with them.

The Drug Gods gave him peace. Just being around them was like taking a hit. That was the effect they had. It was why people naturally acted higher around Weed or why people got horny around Sex. It was the drug god effect.

Even if he was a god, too, he still felt it. Like how he did with Sex. The hunger for the carnal pleasures, for the high, for the relaxation gods like Weed provided, for the pain relief from the mental health drugs.

Everyone has a vice, even gods. And the drug gods? They were his vice.

Loud banging and moans came from above them.

The two gods looked up then at each other.

"Sex," they said at the same time before laughing.

Taking a page out of Technical Boy’s book, Weed steered the conversation in an entirely different direction.

"Why do you always call me Weed?" Weed asked.

Technical Boy shrugged.

"It's your name."

"Marijuana is my name, but people always call me Weed. I don't get it."

"Marijuana has too many syllables. Plus, News calls you that all the time. That and Cannabis. It feels weird to say."

"Why not Mari then?"

Technical Boy shrugged once again.

"Mari," he said. "Mari. Mari. Mari. Mari. Mari. Mari." He repeated it, testing out how it sounded. "I could get used to it. It is really cute."

Weed chuckled and shook their head at their friend. They turned and grabbed a cookie for themself, Technical Boy, and Coke.

"Come on, let's get back to the sofa. Coke is probably about to pass out. Doesn’t make sense, though. He rarely sleeps. Guess it’s just one of those days."

Technical Boy followed them out after taking one last fleeting look at the wall.

A drawing of a god with a crooked smile and tired eyes hung among the others. Their curly, short brown hair obscuring most of their face. The same familiar curly, brown hair of the drug gods. Warm, brown eyes that looked as excited as they did tired. The same brown eyes every drug god had. From the palest of the pale to the darkest of the dark and every colour of the rainbow, every drug god shared those traits. Even the ones whose ethnicity would dictate black hair or straight hair. They all shared the same dark brown eyes and curly, brown hair. Of course, some dyed or straightened their hair and/or put contacts in, but none of them could change what was real. It's what made them a “family”. What made them different from any other kind of god.

For a moment, he thought D was grinning at him from the drawing, but he knew it was just his imagination. He hoped so, at least.

•

Weed tossed one of the sugary cookies at Coke. It hit him in his stomach, rudely, but effectively, waking him up.

Small bits of powdered sugar laid on his stomach. He didn’t bother to even try to brush them away.

"Oh, hey, I thought you two were fucking or something."

They both snickered.

"Without you? Never," Technical Boy said, sarcastically.

Weed sat down next to Coke, throwing a leg over his.

He rubbed it absentmindedly as he ate the cookie.

"Hey, Coke," Technical Boy said, sitting down on Weed's other side, practically sandwiching them. "You remember that photo where Weed was laying across us?"

Coke was quiet, shifting in his seat.

"I think. I don't know; we got really fucked up that night. I think I fucked somebody, though, cause I woke up naked."

Weed and Technical Boy laughed.

"Well, do you remember who took the photo?"

Coke stared at the broken chandelier.

"Uh, I wanna say News, but that's mostly because he was the main person taking pictures that night. Maybe SM, not sure, though. I don't really remember."

Technical Boy nodded.

"Alright. Thanks anyway."

Weed leant back to look at the tech god.

"Why do you wanna know so badly?"

He shrugged.

"I hate not knowing things."

Coke's head suddenly slumped back, and he passed out.

Technical Boy looked around.

Meth, who never slept, was curled up with Heroin. Toba and Nic, too.

Upstairs, Sex was, weirdly, cuddled up with her current toy, asleep. Normally, she would have gone a few more rounds before sleeping, and she never slept with them. Ever. Especially not cuddling.

The tech god couldn't even hear SM and News fighting. Nor the cries of desperate, dying drug gods who weren't as worshipped anymore. There was always something going on. Always. But not now. Now, it was quiet, and that was unnerving.

When he looked down, Weed was sleeping against him.

Their body began to weaken. The once plump Weed began to whittle down to skin and bones. Their recognizable, chubby cheeks fading to reveal high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. The soft, large belly that Technical Boy sometimes fell asleep on disappeared. The god's large, comfortable clothes that smelled of them became baggy on the now skeletal-like form.

He looked over at Coke, who was in a similar, skeletal state. Looking around at the others, he noticed they were the same.

Finally, he looked toward a raised part of the living room. It had probably once been used for a piano or an orchestra for balls. Now, all it held was a single chair. It was more like a throne. The only place in the entire house that laid untouched was that part of the living room. No one dared go near it. In the throne of a chair sat a skeleton.

That's not a figure of speech. There literally was a skeleton with clothes on. Simple, baggy, neutral-coloured clothes. It was weird, even for the drug gods. No one was even sure where it came from.

Technical Boy often forgot it was there.

Skin crawled over the bones and filled with meat and veins and blood. Hair grew. Curly, brown hair. The hands clenched the ends of the armrests as they groaned and sat up. When they opened their eyes, warm and brown, they grinned that familiar, crooked grin and stared at Technical Boy, a glint of mischief in their eyes.

"Hello," they said. "It's nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you."


End file.
